The Stream of My Conscious

I swear, I really don't like poetry. It's not my fault all the creative writing assignments in my British Literature class involve poetry. This one is a stream of consciousness that I wrote about dancing. Enjoy (hopefully).

Dancing and Self Revelation

Dancing. I search my mind
To find the words that convey
The sense of mental ease that it brings
Like idly strumming the strings of a guitar
Or shooting hoops in a darkened gym
With only the muted echo of the ball
Ringing on the hardwood
And the occasional squeak of a pair of Dadas
As they slide on a clean finish
Dancing heals
They use it in therapy
Usually stuff more like ballet
Or modern, contemporary if you insist
Because the body moves
As a reflection of the soul
When the soul is whole, so is the body,
But I don’t think it works the other way around
Ballroom is the best
A man and woman moving together
With a sense of ease and purpose
As music sings a steady waltz
Three beats to a measure
Lower on the one, rise on two through three
Lower again, maybe do a big top
Or a closed telemark or a tumble turn
It’s all the same,
Beautiful
I wish I could capture that grace, always
But Brent says I’m
“not a natural mover” and sometimes
He says I move “without passion”
He’s wrong, of course
The passion is there, inside
But I can’t release it at will
Usually it comes best when I’m alone
Plucking out a tune on a guitar or listening
To that magical swish as I bury the long trey
But I’m never quite alone when I dance
I always have someone in my arms
Which is what makes it so magical
Because everybody dances better
When they have someone to hold